


Crimson and Clover

by p3ftast3ri



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Self-Indulgent, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Trans Aziraphale (Good Omens), Trans Crowley (Good Omens), Vanilla, extremely so, had the time of my life writing it, i projected a bit but not too much, like at least i laughed, like i just...., like it's EMBARRASSINGLY sappy, so :), they're also both trans because fuck you, this came out so fucking sappy but tbh.. i fink it's accurate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 23:16:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20629148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p3ftast3ri/pseuds/p3ftast3ri
Summary: "They kept holding each other for a long time, in spite of the heat, in spite of the mess they had made, both feeling like they would need nothing for the rest of time but to hold each other; to hold, and to be held."Just a couple of thousands of words about Aziraphale and Crowley being old and white and gay and awkward and vanilla as hell as promised. This is mostly comprised of rediculous descriptions of feelings and bad sex jokes but then so is everything that Shakespeare wrote ever.





	Crimson and Clover

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because a) there didn't seem to be a fic about Them (tm) being EXTREMELY awkward in bed and I figured I had to be the person I wanted to see in the world,  
b) i wanted to scandalize a friend of mine (just kidding)  
c)I listened to Crosby, Stills and Nash's Our House one too many times, and, last but not least,  
d) I wanted to tell every non-native speaker to just WRITE and POST STUFF even though you may feel you english is not "good" or a little rusty! every dialect is valid! please don't deprive the world of your creativity because of your linguistic insecurities. Sincerely, someone who's very self-conscious about speaking/ writing in english and spent hours revising this !

"What are we doing?" Blurted out Crowley, and sat upright as if he had just remembered he'd left the stove open. If he had had a stove , in the first place, that is. He did have a pan or two, though.

  
"Why are we drunk? I didn't want to be drunk for tonight."

  
Here's the thing. They'd been dating for almost three weeks as of that evening, because it's always three, the number had some biblical implications. Also, it might have had something to do with the fact that people always stopped counting after three. It had also been three weeks since the Armageddon was "successfully" averted, because of course it was.

  
They had confessed to each other that night at the Ritz. They had gone on several other dates after that, to the ritz again, to the park, to some of aziraphale's favourite restaurants -which were a lot, mind you- and they'd all consisted of them awkwardly and only figuratively dancing around each other,which would have seemed rediculous to any outsider, althought it would have been much funnier if they had been literally dancing, now that I'm thinking about it. Damn it, this should have been _that_ kind of fic instead.

  
They also occasionally held hands, which was the furthest they'd gone and for which Crowley was initially thankful for, as everytime it happened he felt he was going to evaporate and turn into a cloud before he could rain himself back to earth then turn into a cloud again. But lately, even that just couldn't suffice, which is why he decided to take matters into his own hands.

  
The room was dimly lit and the odour of cognac entwined with the heavy, bitter scent of old books filled the air.

  
Aziraphale looked at him, brows pushed together.

  
"Why, dear boy, what's tonight?"

  
"Oh nothing. S'just that.. I planned on kissing you tonight, is all". He said, as-a-matter-of-factly, as if it was the weather he was commenting on, or the wine, or the differences in angelic depictions in orthodox and catholic churches.

  
"Well.." (Aziraphales eyes widened) "-I mean.. what's stopping you?" He sipped from his glass, trying not to appear too eager, but not come across as too uninterested either.

  
"Nah, it's like- being drunk now means that- look, I want to remember it tomorrow.Kissing you. And the day after, and after and. .. you get it. Hey it's w- y- it's a big deal." he was speaking partly to Aziraphale, partly to himself, one word slipping seamlessly into the next, drowsily, drunkenly, _tenderly_.

  
"And- I've been meaning to do it for years- since! Idontknow, since forever, almost".

  
"We could always sober up" proposed Aziraphale, touched by how accurately Crowley had described what he himself felt, eyebrows raised, index finger circling the hem of his glass.

"Right, uh- _let's_. if you don't mind-"

  
"Oh, not at all. Will you...?"

  
"Yeah, I got it, just let me-"

  
Crowley snapped his fingers once.

  
Suddenly he wasn't drunk anymore, which gave him sufficient mental alertness to have a complete fucking breadown.

  
What the fuck. Had he just told Aziraphale he planned on kissing him that night? Really? Who does that? Not anyone Crowley knew of. Most people on TV just simply went for it. They didn't ask. They didn't even mention it, almost ever. And they certainly didn't fucking discuss it over cognac and cookies.

  
"Ooh,that wasn't very-"

  
"Pleasant?"

  
"I'm afraid so. But it never is. We should just have taken it-"

  
"Into account, yeah. "

  
"Wasn't too romantic, either. "

"Complete moodkiller", added Crowley.

  
"Right, thats what they call it. We should probably wait before..."

  
"Yeah. "

  
Crowley couldn't just hide his face into his hands in front of Aziraphale, as he'd made enough if a fool of himself already, so he began searching anxiously for his glasses. Somebody, he never wanted to discorporate more than he did that moment.

  
"Can I sit next to you?" Aziraphale asked, suddenly, and Crowley scooted over, wide eyed even at the fact that Aziraphale even felt the need to ask. Aziraphale sat, and upon opening his arms, inviting Crowley in, the demon leaned into the hug. He rest his head on aziraphale's shoulder. This was new, and it was perfect in ways Crowley wouldn't realize until later, as is usually the case with first times.

  
He could feel Aziraphale's hands on his hair, softly carding it, and could hear his heart beat against his chest. The fact that the angel didn't really need it didn't make it feel any less intimate to Crowley.

  
"I love you."

"I know darling boy. I love you too."

  
"I'm s- you know. Sorry for being so weird- making it so hard for us to- I'm so awkward."

  
"Crowley, no. Never apologise. You're not awkward at all. It's I who should be aplogising, really."

  
"you didnt even do anything."

"Right, i didn't do _anything_. I couldn't even gather the courage to ask if I could kiss you- but you were brave for merely bringing it up, love."

  
Crowley suppressed a shiver at the sound of the petname, and spoke. "Even drunk?"

(They were face to face now, still holding each other)

  
"Even drunk" said Aziraphale, smiling.

"Besides, I was drunk too. "

  
Crowley simply gazed at him through his glasses, which he finally felt comfortable to dispose off again.

  
"I think I'm ready now."

  
"I believe I am as well."

  
The disturbing churning in their stomachs had ceased , save for that which was caused by butterflies, but we will not start with the middle school metaphors now, because this is Aziraphale and Crowley were talking about , it would never end, and, furthermore, they would all be pretty accurate to how they felt.

  
They gazed into each others eyes some more, not sure who should lean in first, which eventually turned out to be Crowley. When Aziraphale noticed, he leaned immediately in as well, and their lips met in the middle.

  
Crowley also pulled back first, because that's what people do, don't they? He didn't want Aziraphale to believe he was inexperienced, or desperate, or anything of the sort, which he was, but which he was also willing to go to great lengths to hide.

  
Turned out, keeping away from Aziraphale felt near impossible once they had kissed.

  
Aziraphale smiled, and almost said something - he would have, had not Crowley leaned in and kissed him again, and again, and again, and suddenly he'd had his first kiss, and his second one, and his stopped-counting-because-I-can-barely-think-in-words-let-alone-count-at-this-point one.

  
Aziraphale never got to finish what be was going to say, but he didn't mind at all. He pulled Crowley even closer as they kissed, and struggled to suppress a smile.

  
Crowley knew his first kiss wasn't supposed to be flawless. It was not, it did have flaws, many of them too, and somehow at the same time it was nothing short of perfect. It was flawed, and sloppy and all round weird and new, but it was still Aziraphale he was kissing, which pretty much compensated for everything else.

  
Although, once they turned to french kissing and it became obvious to both of them that crowley had no idea what to do next, Aziraphale was more than glad to take the lead.  
It wasn't so much a conscious decision as it was a matter of instinct, of gravitating towards what felt right.

  
Or maybe Aziraphale was just a top.

  
Crowley broke the kiss and groaned when aziraphale's hand landed on his thigh, the combination of his tongue touching his own and his hand so very close to where he needed it most entirely too much.

  
"So warm"

  
Crowley keened again. He hid his face in aziraphale's neck and began kissing him there.

  
"Gorgeous" continued the angel, his angel, his angel, his angel, thought Crowley , emphasizing each thought with a kiss.

  
When Aziraphale touched him _there_, his head fell back.

  
"Angel! Im- I'm not going to last long if you keep doing that."

"You mean this?" Asked Aziraphale and pressed his palm harder against the zipper of Crowley's jeans, and when the demon jerked away Aziraphale _chuckled_.

  
"Yes" Crowley replied hastily, not caring to focus on the glints of sarcasm in aziraphale's voice.

  
"But I do so want to see you fall apart for me dear"

  
Crowley moaned, loudly, too enthralled by pleasure to give a care about the volume of his voice.

  
_I want to touch you too,_ Crowley thought, still feeling a tad afraid it might be too forward, even though they were- literally about to have sex.

"Do you want to undress?"

  
"Yes"

  
"Do you want to take this to bed?"

  
Crowley thought for a moment. He was familiar with Aziraphale's bookshop, he felt safe and more than at ease there. He had never even seen Aziraphale's bedroom, he wasn't even sure he even had one, for heaven's sake.

  
"We can go to your bedroom, if you'd like that, you know"

Oh.

  
"Okay"

  
Crowley snapped his fingers once (he didn't have to do that to perform a miracle, he could just think about it but, well , where was all the fun in that?) and they found themselves in his bedroom.

  
"Were the rose petals part of the original decor?"

  
Crowley looked around nervously, suddenly aware that he may have gotten a little carried away. He hoped Aziraphale would not proceed to inquire about his black satin bedsheets, because he really _did _sleep in these usually.

  
"Yeah, totally - all modern bedrooms have those, they're part of the design- "I tried to get them removed- why would- why would I -"

"Miracle rose petals onto your bed and all across the floor?"

  
"Yeah, uh, that."

  
He had heard of people dying of fear, of excessive laughter (hell, he was there, right next to Chrysippus when that donkey started eyeing those figs ), of sadness, even. He had never heard of death of embarrasement. He wondered if it was possible.

  
Aziraphale gazed at him, his lips turned into a smile and his eyes hooded.

"Because you're a romantic"

  
"I'm not!"

  
"An old sap is what you are"

"Nonsense! I'm a demon! Romanticism and all that ...cheesy, lovey-dovey stuff is for your sort"

  
  
"And lust is supposed to be for yours but I doubt you've ever indulged in it before, have you Crowley?"

  
Yeah, he became certain then that death of embarrassment was possible, sure.

  
Did Aziraphale imply he had previous experience? Was it that obvious that he didn't ? (Was he even trying to hide in from the first place? Is it not that what he yearned for, to be seen, to be touched, to be vulnerable and open and loved, despite everything he previously felt he had to lock away, _because_ of everything he previously felt he had to hide?)

  
The grin on Aziraphale's face didn't falter once and, not surprisingly at all at that point, neither did Crowley's arousal.

  
"I-" he began, when Aziraphale hushed him with a kiss.

  
"It's okay. I'm just teasing you. I wouldn't have this any other way. I wouldnt- well, I wouldn't have _you_ any other way."

  
In a surprising display of acrobatics, Crowley's heart shifted from full of embarrasment to full of love to full of coyness again when they began lovingly undressing each other, fingers gently fumbling over buttons, tenderly grazing the freshly exposed skin that lay underneath, the mildest hints of hesitation melting under the terrific warmth that their laughter radiated whenever a zipper wouldn't budge, a ghost of a smile lingering on their faces as they laid on the bed.

  
Everything was done with such care. The mere softness of it made Crowley want to _sob_.

  
"Crowley, pumpkin, is everything okay?" Asked Aziraphale once he actually did, still hovering above him, gently bringing a hand up to brush a tear from his cheekbone. Any ordinary person would have at least snorted at the pet name but it only helped to add more zest to Crowley's sobs, which really tells you how much of a repressed dick he was being when he said he wasn't romantic.

  
He sat up, Aziraphale immediately following.

  
"Crowley, what's wrong?"

  
Crowley immediately clasped aziraphale's face in his hands at the thought of his angel feeling even lightly guilty because of his damned uncontrollable sentimentalism.

  
"Aziraphale! Everything is perfect, it's just- ngk- I, uh- ive wanted this for so long and i-"

  
Too much. He had so much to say. They'd have to talk for another 6 millennia if Crowley wanted to express everything he felt at that moment in detail. So he said something else instead, something he hoped would encompass and encapsulate it all, even the ineffable parts (especially the ineffable parts):

  
_He loved him._

  
The smile that Crowley so cherished reapearred on Aziraphale's face. A smile that Crowley could not but describe as fond.

  
"I love you too, my dear, darling boy"

  
It was Crowley's turn to wipe a year off Aziraphale's cheek. _Christ, look at us both_, he thought. _What a pair we make. _

  
"We're both stark bloody naked, we shouldn't be crying right now" he exclaimed, trying to lighten the mood.

  
"Hm? What should we be doing stark naked instead?"

  
Crowley let his eyes roll hoping it would erase the blush from his face.

"Making love?" Added Aziraphale and stroked his demons face with his hand.

  
"For god's sake, don't say it like that!" Crowley rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  
"Then you say it."

  
Great. Try explaining to an angel you're not any less embarrased to say the word sex out loud than you are to hear the phrase "making love".

  
They really should talk at some point.

  
Crowley leaned in and kissed Aziraphale to avoid answering the question in words. (It was the first time something he saw on a movie worked just as well in real life)

  
(And he had often put movie clichés to test. Who said that life imitates art far more than art imitates life?

Oh right. )

  
He tugged Aziraphale back over him by the shoulders, and placed his soft body between his legs , which his angel started peppering kisses over, making Crowley giggle and giggle and giggle until he wasn't any more.

  
Aziraphale looked down at Crowley's effort, and reached down with his hand to spread the wetness around, his hand on Crowley's flushed skin electrifying, sending bolts of sheer pleasure rippling through his body, before Crowley stopped him, again.

"Get on with it I'm- djkx- uh- I'm... VERY close already"

  
Aziraphale chuckled, not being able to bring himself to mock Crowley's stamina, as he could relate to Crowley's position .

  
(Not sexually though; sexually he was almost always a top)

  
"I am too", he confessed.

  
"Then-!" Crowley gestured vaguely towards himself.

  
Aziraphale lined their bodies up and rested his elbows on either side of Crowley's head.

  
Crowley felt vulnerable, helpless and found he didn't hate the feeling at all.

  
When Aziraphale thrusted forward, Crowley clung to aziraphale's body above him, and both moaned in harmonious unison, Crowley's high-pitched whine complementing aziraphale's answering groan.

  
"oh, that's splendid", uttered the latter, voice surprisingly even as Crowley's legs tangled up behind his back.

  
"Oh, good boy"

  
Crowley moaned loudly at the praise.

  
"Thank you", he replied, causing Aziraphale to giggle again.

  
He let his hands roam possesively over Aziraphale's torso and his back as they kissed.

  
While Aziraphale's thrusts were quickly and unevenly growing apace , both were clutching one another, neither paying too much attention to the noise the bedposts were making hitting the wall, lost in sensations, in feelings,mostly in each other, momentarily entranced by how the world seemed to dwell in them, rather than they in it.

  
"That's it, fuck. Oh that's marvellous. Come for me dear boy, will you?"

  
And Crowley did, because, why the fuck would he not.

  
He did his best to keep his eyes open and focused on Aziraphale's as sparkles of pleasure were tugging at the edges of his form, and he managed to do it for several seconds, before he began to shake apart, his orgasm washing over him like white floodlights shining from every direction, destroying all shadows, Aziraphale's name stretched at the edges as it ebbed, hedonically, out of Crowley's mouth.

  
"That's it. You're so gorgeous like this. God..."

  
Crowley felt Aziraphale follow close behind him. He watched as Aziraphale came (down from his high), mesmerized, marvelling at the way aziraphale's face (oh so very close to his own) spasmed , how the veins and muscles on his neck tensed to a halt and then gave out, as he reached a hand to trace a drop of sweat dripping from his chest while it trembled.

  
Aziraphale's thrusts reached a climax before they began slowing down, Crowley's overstimulation softening at the edges, leaving a hint of a sweet burn behind before its memory slipped gently into oblivion.

  
Aziraphale collapsed onto him, and they held each other. They kept holding each other for a long time, in spite of the heat, in spite of the mess they had made, both feeling like they would need nothing for the rest of time but to hold each other; to hold, and to be _held_.

  
"I love you so much" Crowley said, breaking the silence that was only worn out at the seams by their panting.

  
Aziraphale raised his head from were it was resting on Crowley's chest to look at him.

  
"I simply adore you"

  
They gazed and gazed and gazed. Basking in the impossible warmth of the moment, the uniqueness of those seconds that would never come again, hearts alight with the endless possibilities of the future.

  
"You do go too fast for me , though" said Crowley, in an effort to brighten the mood, dropping his head back and fanning at it with his hand dramatically.

  
"Oh come now, dear boy" replied Aziraphale, not willing to address those words they'd exchanged all those years ago.  
"-You literally lasted for five minutes, at most"

**Author's Note:**

> (Crowley is only moderately articulate under casual circumstances so don't @ me for writing him ... Like That because i"m right)
> 
> If you got the Sherlock reference, I'm sorry.
> 
> talk to me about tenderness and yearning and wizards @apollxnysus on tumblr


End file.
